


Four Times Dorian Thought the Inquisitor Wasn’t Okay

by ValkyriaRising



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Amputation, Angst, Dragon Age: Inquisition - Trespasser DLC, Dragons, Drinking, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Flashbacks, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pre-Trespasser
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-19
Updated: 2019-02-19
Packaged: 2019-10-31 16:12:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17852891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ValkyriaRising/pseuds/ValkyriaRising
Summary: And the one time Dorian thought the Inquisitor,hisbeloved Inquisitor, was okay.





	Four Times Dorian Thought the Inquisitor Wasn’t Okay

**Author's Note:**

> This is actually a rewrite of something I posted here last year, but couldn't stand upon rereading it. I hadn't played Trespasser at that point, but now that I have it makes for way more angst. Hopefully this version sits a little better with me in the future! -Valk

**1\. In Your Heart Shall Burn**

Dorian had looked over his shoulder one moment and the Herald had been there—the next, he was gone, having told them to run, but never promising that he would follow. Haven was on fire, the newly formed Inquisition was scattered, and the man who sought to be a god and his archdemon loomed, signaling their impending destruction. Whatever plan Damien had, Dorian hoped they hadn’t just lost the only person capable of clearing their path to victory.

Dorian had watched the subsequent avalanche from the mountain path just above Haven—they wouldn’t have made it that far without Trevelyan’s intervention, but watching Haven as it was swallowed by snow made Dorian’s heart jump into his throat. Damien, their Herald, the supposed champion of Andraste, was down there somewhere and Dorian realized he cared enough to be genuinely _concerned_ for the man. The Tevinter mage hadn’t been with the Inquisition long, but Dorian had learned that Damien had more tenacity than all of Tevinter had wine—Dorian just hoped it would be enough to get him through this.

What Dorian didn’t expect was the amount of relief he felt when he saw Cullen and Cassandra practically dragging Damien into camp—his heart skipping  a beat when he heard the victorious uproar of everyone the Herald had inspired and given hope as they crowded around the ginger. Dorian had been afraid of losing their only way to repair tears in the Veil and reliably face-off with an ancient Tevinter magister, but Dorian came to realize he was genuinely fearful of losing _Damien_ —not the Herald, not Andraste’s champion, not their soon-to-be Inquisitor—but Damien.

Dorian had grown used to being greeted by friendly emerald eyes genuinely interested in his ramblings and even looked forward to any books Damien thought to hand his way. It was a simple, what Dorian had read as _friendly_ gesture at first—a leatherbound book passed between rough battle-worn hands. It made Dorian feel like a teenager again when his heart fluttered if their fingers brushed. The pages made the miserable cold of the Frostback Mountains easier to ignore and he had only one person to thank for that. That person, though nearly frozen and subject to hypothermia with snow and ice frozen to his eyelashes and boots, was _alive_ and breathing and that’s the best outcome Dorian could have asked for.

 

**2\. Champion**

Damien had told him that he wanted to be untouchable—unkillable even, if possible. Dorian chalked it up to the redhead’s recklessness. The warrior was known for charging into battle headfirst, deflecting incoming arrows and blocking heavy blows from a hammer or another greatsword so that he and Varric could flank their assailants. He had already tried taking Corypheus head-on—and had done so without so much as flinching.

The Inquisitor was a skilled swordsman without a shadow of a doubt, the greatsword in his hand moving just as naturally as the staff in Dorian’s hand. He kept the blade sharp and Dorian could see the satisfaction on Damien’s freckled face whenever the metal bit through enemy armor, the protective layer crumpling easily and the blade drawing fresh blood that had come to represent their impending victory. Back to back with Cassandra, they were a force to be reckoned with and they seemed to hold a mutual respect for each other, regardless of the decisions Damien made that Cassandra was sure to voice her displeasure about later.

Dorian would discover; however, that Damien’s self-described motivations were a façade. A drunken night shared between the two of them on the balcony after arriving at Skyhold had revealed his intentions and while Dorian had expressed his surprise at the time, the mage had always suspected there was a more complex underlying reason. He had seen the Reaver methods book sitting on Damien’s desk—and had noticed when it had disappeared and had been replaced. The mage meant to ask about it then, but distracting lips had been pressed against the back of his neck and the thought was lost.

The sadness Dorian saw subtly reflected in Damien’s emerald eyes would soon become a familiar sight, but in that moment on the balcony that night, Dorian felt a pang in his heart. The newly named Inquisitor was staring off into the distance, wine bottle in his hand, half-lidded eyes misty with what Dorian realized was more regret than melancholy and in his alcohol-addled state of mind the mage couldn’t _not_ ask why. Damien had smiled in response, passing him the wine bottle, saying he had lost two people close to him because of his recklessness—saying he couldn’t let it happen again. He would defend them to his last dying breath if it meant the people he loved survived.

Dorian had nodded silently, almost regretting having asked, but the fluttering of his heart when Damien playfully bumped his hip with Dorian’s eclipsed the feeling. Dorian would soon find that the specialization seemed almost made for the red-head. The mage couldn’t see him as anything other than a walking fortress in the end, so it seemed Damien’s choice was a fitting one after all.

 

**3\. Vinsomer**

They had an entire boat ride to decide to turn back, but it seemed that no one could get the idea of fighting a high dragon out of Damien’s head. They had seen her fly over the Storm Coast, circling before disappearing into the fog beyond the shore, what little light that filtered through the clouds glinting off of her steel-gray scales.

Dorian and Varric has been intimidated—rightfully so; Cassandra came from a line of dragon hunters and seemed indifferent, but Damien looked almost _excited._ It was hard to miss the mischievous glint in his green eyes as he looked off the side of the boat into the distance, his body seemingly vibrating with anticipation.

Once they were on the battlefield in front of her, Dorian expected that look to change to something akin to fear, like he saw for a moment in Cassandra’s eyes—though she’d never admit it, but the mage watched as Damien confidently _taunted_ Vinsomer, drawing her attention away as he pulled his greatsword off of his back. Steel met scales and the champion was quick to dash out of the way as electricity crackled through the air, the rain beginning to fall more heavily now than before.

The downpour eventually blinded Dorian to where he could make out little more than patches of color that he could only assume were his companions. Vinsomer’s roar echoed across the island and he was sure you could hear it from the shore of the coast, but he didn’t give it much thought once the yelling that followed caught his attention.

Varric was dragging Cassandra away as Damien took another heavy blow, causing Dorian’s heart to skip a beat as the high dragon’s claws sliced through the air, connecting haphazardly with the warrior’s sword again, throwing him backwards, but he landed on his feet, deflecting the next blow and beckoning for the giant winged lizard to follow him as he moved away from where his companions were gathering.

Dorian was quick to cast a barrier around their Inquisitor before rushing to Cassandra’s side, grimacing at the deep gash she had acquired on her left thigh. He was never skilled with healing magic, but he did his best. He looked up again just in time to see the Inquisitor— _his_ Inquisitor, as of recent—become engulfed in pure electricity. The mage felt the power rush through the air and it made the hair on the back of his neck stand up and his heart leap into his throat.

It couldn’t end like this—not here and not now.

Cassandra cried out for the Herald, trying to push herself up, but Varric pushed her back down, squinting as he tried to see through the rain. It took Dorian a moment, but he felt it, too—an overwhelming sense of finality. He didn’t know who had just experienced their final moments, but he would soon find out. The next few seconds felt like an eternity as they waited.

The next few seconds was all it took for Damien to fell the high dragon of the Storm Coast.

Dorian watched with quiet satisfaction as their Inquisitor emerged nearly unscathed from the blast, rain running off of his red-tinted armor in rivulets that from afar looked almost like blood. His green eyes seemed to glow in the dim light and Dorian realized he had never seen Damien look more _alive_ than in that moment—greatsword buried in Vinsomer’s chest, pulling it out and giving a final, deft and precise slash to her throat.

The ground shook when her body finally collapsed. Damien stood over her and Dorian saw his mouth moving, sure the Inquisitor was apologizing to the air for bringing down such a noble beast, but once he had finished his apology and their eyes met across the battlefield, Dorian saw him smirk.

 

**4\. Corypheus**

When Corypheus tore the Breach back open over the ruins of all that they had lost, Damien had announced it was the end. Whether he meant the end of their journey, the end of the road, the end of their time, or perhaps just the end—Dorian wasn’t sure. This would be the last chapter in a long book detailing victories and losses he had experienced first-hand—the mage could feel it. Now, they had to face the would-be god who they thought had started it all.

They gathered around their Inquisitor, reassured by his smile and the warm green glow of the Anchor, but Dorian could see the war Damien was fighting in his head. When Damien’s soft green eyes met Dorian’s warm brown ones across the war table, Dorian realized his amatus was silently apologizing to him. For what, Dorian had yet to find out, but once everyone had left with their orders save Cassandra, Varric, and himself, Dorian found out.

“I can’t- I can’t in good conscious ask any of you to come up there with me,” Damien started, leaning back against the map-covered table and crossing his arms across his broad chest. “We could die and I love all of you too much to ask that of you.”

“We’re with you—wherever you go,” Cassandra promised, smiling a rare smile that made Dorian realize just how deeply she believed in their cause and in Damien, not just as the Inquisitor, but as her friend. “We couldn’t have asked for a better Inquisitor.”

“Come on, kid—we knew how this was going to end,” Varric replied with a smirk and a shrug, voicing Cassandra’s silent convictions. “We stayed because we believe in this—believe in _you_ … and you’ve been changing the narrative since the day we met. This ending likely won’t be any different.”

Dorian found that for once in his life, he was at a loss for words. Damien extended a hand his way and the Tevinter mage was quick to take it, leaning forward to press his forehead gently against Damien’s, resting a hand at the nape of the ginger’s neck. Their eyes fell closed almost instinctively. Dorian hoped Damien knew his answer without him needing to say it.

 

**5\. Trespasser**

Once their real enemy had made himself known, Dorian wasn’t sure how they _hadn’t_ seen it. Solas’ departure had been shrouded in mystery—the result of which was why they were chasing him through eluvians and fighting off angry Qunari. The quarrel with the Qunari and the resulting conflict between the nations at the Exalted Council were his fault, anyway. The mage had a thing or two he’d like to say to the elf.

But Damien had disappeared through the last eluvian by himself, asking them to stand guard while he chased after the agent of Fen-Harel—Dorian wouldn’t believe Damien later when the ginger told him Solas _was_ Fen-Harel, but that was beside the point. Their fight with the saarebas had been a long and difficult one and the pain on Damien’s face when the Anchor flared again and the tears stinging at the edges of the Inquisitor’s eyes made Dorian’s heart hurt. The mage just hoped that Solas could at least keep the Anchor from killing him.

After all of this, he couldn’t lose the love of his life—they had survived high dragons and would-be gods and titans and this _couldn’t_ be the end. He felt like it was almost their responsibility to take care of Solas, too—if only they hadn’t been so blind. He felt guilty that he was going back to Tevinter after all of this—he hadn’t meant to break Damien’s heart and he likely wouldn’t forget the look on his lover’s face when he said he was going back for good, this time.

The mage had meant the sending crystal as a peace offering, hoping it was enough, but standing here now he realized it made for poor company and even poorer consolation. Damien had joked about stealing an eluvian or two and while Dorian had brushed it off at the time, he was starting to think maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea. Damien had promised him a night in a wyvern-down bed at the Winter Palace, after all, and this time the Game and the royal’s squabbles wouldn’t get in the way.

Yelling drew him out of his thoughts—a common occurrence when Damien made his appearance that Dorian had gotten used to over the three years that had passed. Relief flowed through him as he turned, glad that Solas hadn’t decided to turn his Inquisitor into a pile of dust, but that relief was quickly replaced with pure terror and dread. Damien came limping out of the eluvian he had originally disappeared through, tears streaming down his face and his entire left arm flaring green, his opposite hand pulling at a cloth he had tied around his upper arm—a tourniquet, Dorian realized seconds later. Cassandra and Varric had rushed forward, catching the Inquisitor as he all, but fell forward to his knees, holding his arm out.

“Cassandra _please_ before it kills me,” the Inquisitor cried, his voice breaking as he pleaded with the new Divine, fresh tears staining his freckled cheeks when the green light from his palm flashed again, his watery green eyes squeezing shut and his jaw clenching as pain radiated through his body. Dorian could feel the strong pushing and pulling of the Fade around him, realizing just how much pain Damien had to be in. Cassandra moved to hesitantly draw her sword, opening her mouth to argue.

“Inquisi-” but Damien interrupted her, grabbing Varric’s hand as he extended it in preparation.

“CASSANDRA!”

Dorian rushed forward as Cassandra raised her sword, falling to his knees in front of the Inquisitor and grabbing Damien’s face, turning it away as the mage pulled it against his chest so the warrior wouldn’t see. Cassandra’s sword cut deftly through the air and for Damien’s sake, Dorian hoped the blade was still sharp. The Inquisitor cried out as metal met skin and bone, digging his face into Dorian’s robes, his grip on Varric’s hand tightening. Dorian forced himself to look, grimacing before cauterizing the wound with flames produced from his hand, sealing it over with ice to hopefully numb the pain.

Damien let out a choked sob, collapsing against Dorian and Varric, his green eyes half-lidded as if he were in a daze, but Dorian could detect a sort of relief in his posture. Dorian pulled him closer, wishing he could do more to ease the pain, whispering calming encouragements in Damien’s ear.

But, even to his own ears, the words “Everything will be okay” sounded almost fake.


End file.
